


Safe

by RoselynnThornwood



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, F/M, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Rape Aftermath, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29835600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoselynnThornwood/pseuds/RoselynnThornwood
Summary: Angelus wants Buffy out of his way for the awakening of Acathla, so he enlists Drusilla and Spike to help him put her out of commission. Giles helps Buffy through the aftermath of both the physical and emotional turmoil.Takes place post-"Passion" and pre-"Becoming"
Relationships: Rupert Giles/Buffy Summers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Buffy was missing.

No matter how many times he said it to himself, it still didn’t seem real to Giles. Three nights of searching with Willow and Xander with nothing to show for it but a building sense of terror in his chest that she was gone.

But he would know if she was…wouldn’t he? He was her Watcher. Certainly he would feel it if his Slayer had…he couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

He ran his hand through his hair for what must have been the thousandth time that night as he slouched, defeated, down the stairs to the courtyard outside his flat and immediately felt his heart drop out of his chest.

Buffy.

She was curled up there on his doorstep, covered in nothing but far too much blood and lying very, very still.

Giles swore and nearly flew the last few steps to her side. As soon as he laid his hand against her neck to feel for a pulse it was apparent that his fear of the worst was unwarranted, as she was warm—too warm. She was burning with fever. She shuddered at his touch and let out a feeble whimper.

“Buffy, you’re alright. I’ve got you,” he murmured, quickly shedding his jacket and tossing it over her more for modesty than comfort, then standing to unlock the door with trembling hands. He scooped her up into his arms and tore into the flat, kicking the door closed behind him.

He laid her gently on the couch, then took her face in his hands. “Buffy, look at me,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, though he was certain some of his desperation was evident in his tone. Her eyes fluttered open and after a moment of dazed uncertainty settled onto his.

“Giles?” she said in a voice so raw it was barely a whisper.

He could have sobbed with relief. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, running his hands soothingly over her disheveled hair. “You’re here in my flat, and you’re safe. We need to get you to a hospital now.” Her eyes widened at that and she shook her head frantically.

“No! Please no,” she tried to shout, but it came out in a cracked squeak. She gasped in a few deep breaths and clutched his jacket to her chest, then said in a voice that was calmer but still riddled with fear, “Don’t like hospitals. I’ll be okay, just need…need rest. And water.”

Giles didn’t argue but quickly went to the kitchen and brought her back a glass of water, which she drained in just a few large gulps and then held it out for more. Two cups later she was satisfied and sat up on his couch, knees drawn to her chest. He took a blanket from one of the chairs and draped it over her shoulders; she clutched it to herself but still shivered. He sat down beside her, removed his glasses, and massaged the bridge of his nose, trying his best to ignore the ache beginning between his eyes.

“Buffy, you’re bleeding. A lot. And you’re feverish. You need medical attention,” he insisted, but Buffy shook her head. “Blood’s dried. I’m fine. I’ll…I’ll see a doctor tomorrow,” she said. “Just wanna get some sleep.”

He sighed because he knew it was no use; she’d made up her mind. “Can I at least help you get cleaned up first?” he asked tentatively. She kept her eyes locked on the blood-flecked toes that peeked out from under her blanket and nodded.

Moments later Giles had filled a large bowl with warm water and some antiseptic and rejoined Buffy, who was now lying on her belly on the couch, blanket draped over her hips so he could cleanse the dried gore from her skin without either of them having to endure too much embarrassment.

She had been right, most of her wounds had healed over. But as he wiped away the layer of blood that had caked onto her skin what he found underneath did little to comfort him. Lines carved into the flesh of her back with a blade, methodical and intentional. Along her neck and shoulders bites left by vampires, several different vamps from the looks of it. Bruises in varying colors and stages of healing, some clearly in the shape of hands both at her neck and her waist.

“Who –“ He found his voice was far more choked with emotion than he anticipated, so he swallowed and tried again. “Who did this to you?”

She was silent for long enough that he wondered if she had heard him, but after a tense pause she whispered, “Drusilla. Spike.” She turned over, hands clasped over her breasts, but even under all the blood he could see that the bite marks on her neck were nothing compared to the ones that covered her chest. “…Angel.”

He hadn’t thought it was possible for his heart to sink any lower, but tonight was going to be full of unpleasant surprises it seemed. A month ago he’d have never believed Angel capable of this sort of brutality, not after having lived with a soul for so long, but then again he’d also not have believed that Angel would be capable of killing Jenny.

“Buffy, did he –” But before Giles could finish his sentence she was shaking her head, though whether in answer to his question or indicating that she didn’t want to speak of it he couldn’t be certain. She pulled the blanket back up over herself and stood up, swayed uneasily, and then promptly sat back down and lowered her head to her knees. Gingerly he placed a hand on her shoulder, unsure whether she would welcome his touch or not. She tensed for a moment, then allowed herself to relax and sat back up. She laid her head against his shoulder, and he braced himself for her tears but they never came. They sat together that way for a long time; her breathing grew so deep and steady that he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He almost startled when she spoke again.

“Need a shower,” she grumbled.

"You can barely stand,” he argued, but his heart wasn’t in it. He surrendered the bowl of water and washcloth to her, then stood and offered her an arm. “Be careful,” he said as she pulled herself up. “I’ll be close if you need anything.”

While Buffy showered, Giles set himself up with a blanket and pillow on the couch as he’d insist Buffy take the bed tonight. He also gathered some pajama pants and a t-shirt for her to sleep in; her petite frame would be swamped in them, but they were certainly better than nothing. With pajamas and a fresh towel in tow, he knocked quietly at the bathroom door but heard no response. He knocked a little louder and pressed his ear against the door, but heard only the sound of running water.

“Are you alright?” he called, a sense of dread building up in his throat.

Nothing.

He threw the door open and stepped inside to simultaneous relief and heartbreak.

Buffy was conscious but definitely not alright. She hadn’t bothered to close the shower curtain and had left the water running, lukewarm and indifferent. She sat on the floor of the tub, her knees drawn up to her chest, and stared blankly at her feet, letting the water pour over her. It ran down her skin in rivulets, taking streams of blood and filth with it and revealing the bruises and wounds beneath the grime. She turned to him when he entered but said nothing, her face devoid of emotion.

Giles almost wished she would cry; at least then he would know how to comfort her. This was unsettling, and it made him feel helpless. Though probably not nearly as helpless as she felt, he realized. He held the towel up for her and offered what he hoped was a reassuring half-smile.

She turned off the water and stood shakily, bracing herself on the side of the tub. He politely averted his gaze while she dried herself off, but he still noticed the bite marks and purpling bruises that covered her inner thighs. She wrapped the towel around herself and tucked it into place.

He offered her a hand, and she took it to steady herself stepping over the edge of the tub, then collapsed against him. For a second he thought she had slipped, but he realized her embrace was intentional when he felt her arms clasp firmly around him. Delicately he returned the hug, even though he knew that if he held her as tightly as he wanted to he wouldn’t break her. Even horribly injured, she was still his fierce Slayer.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest. “Bed, please.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m gonna fucking stake him.”

While Xander had the presence of mind to keep his voice at a whisper to keep from waking Buffy, he did little to soften his steps as he thundered down the stairs from the bedroom loft to the living room. Giles followed and was able to catch him by the elbow before the boy could reach for his jacket from the coatrack beside the door.

“Xander, don’t—You can’t possibly—” Giles sighed heavily, gathered his thoughts, and started again. “I understand what you’re feeling.” He didn’t know how much Buffy had shared with her friends about his poorly thought-out attempt at vengeance on Angelus after Jenny’s death, but he did know it couldn’t hurt to allow himself to be vulnerable with the young people he had grown to consider his charges. “When Jenny was killed, I wanted to stake him, too. I didn’t care what happened to me, all I wanted was for him to suffer. The world could have burned around me in the process, and I still would have considered it a better place without Angelus in it. But if Buffy hadn’t intervened, I’d have been slaughtered. We don’t have Buffy right now, and without her…” He trailed off. “It’s not that I doubt your capabilities. But Angelus is more powerful than you realize.”

Xander’s shoulders drooped, the bravado draining out of him with every word Giles said.

“I know,” he said. “I just…I hate this. I feel like I can’t do anything for her.”

Giles released his grip on Xander’s elbow and gave him his best attempt at a reassuring pat on the arm. “The best thing you can do for her right now is to stay alive. Now go put the kettle on. We could all use some tea.”

When Giles had called Willow to let her know that Buffy was with him, he had intended to merely share that the Slayer was safe so that her friends could rest easily after their fruitless nights of searching. But shortly after hanging up the phone, Willow had shown up at the flat with Xander in tow, both insisting on seeing her for themselves. Buffy had slept soundly in Giles’s bed, unaware that her closest friends looked in on her with sympathetic sorrow in their eyes. At the sight of her battered face and arms covered with bruises, Willow had sunk onto the bed next to her and gently stroked her hair, speech seemingly beyond her. Xander hadn’t handled the sight so well.

While Xander filled the kettle with water and set it to boil on the stove, Giles joined him in the kitchen and collected three mugs and a tin of tea from the cabinets. Chamomile seemed appropriate; they could all use a bit of calming herb at the moment. 

He and Xander both leaned back against the counter and stared quietly at the kettle while it heated up. Giles considered making a halfhearted joke about watching a pot and expecting it to boil but thought better of it. One look at the shadows under Xander’s eyes told him that the young man had been sleeping as little as Giles had these last few nights; he probably appreciated the lack of obligation to engage in small talk.

However, it was Xander who broke the silence with a syllable: “Why?”

”Hmm?”

“Why do all this to her?” he elaborated. “Why not just kill her?”

Giles pushed his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose, then folded his arms across his chest. “Well, I imagine Angelus wants the Slayer out of the way for some nefarious purpose or other, and if he were to simply kill Buffy then another Slayer would rise up to take her place. That could potentially thwart his plan, so keeping her injured and out of commission for as long as possible would be more in line with his interests.”

“But then why bring her back?” Xander pressed. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for him to just…keep her?”

“That’s the part that gives me pause,” Giles admitted. “Angelus has a flair for psychological torture as well as physical, so it’s possible that leaving her here is a way of lulling her into a false sense of security, to make it that much worse when he takes her back for more of the same. But he knows we’ve replaced the wards on both my home and Buffy’s, so as long as she’s inside he can’t get her. Now there is also the possibility that—“

But any further speculation about Angelus’s intentions were interrupted by a shriek from upstairs, followed by a loud crash.

Both Giles and Xander bolted for the stairs and leapt up them two at a time to find Willow on the floor against the wall across the room from the bed, where Buffy was sitting up with her hands clutching her scalp, rocking back and forth, and gasping, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Willow, I didn’t mean it.” Her apologies melted into a long, low keening, a sobbing without tears that cut Giles straight to the heart. He ran to her bedside and knelt there, taking Buffy’s hands in his own, and asking softly, “What happened?”

Buffy just continued to make that horrible sound, but Willow answered from where she had landed as Xander helped her to her feet, “She woke up and saw me and screamed, ‘Drusilla, no!’ and then threw me across the room.” Despite having been launched several feet at presumably full Slayer strength, Willow seemed much more concerned about Buffy’s strange behavior than her own wellbeing. “She just…she looked so scared. I’ve never seen her look at me like that before.” She hugged herself and looked to Giles with eyes that filled rapidly with tears.

“She didn’t recognize you?”

Willow shook her head. “No, I’m pretty sure she _did_ recognize me, she just freaked.”

Giles knit his brow. That certainly raised more questions. Some sort of enchantment of Drusilla’s maybe? The simpler and more likely solution was an ordinary nightmare, though that almost seemed too obvious.

Buffy squeezed Giles’s hands tightly and managed to gain some control of herself. She choked out, “It was Drusilla, she…Willow…and Xander—” But she just shook her head, unable to continue, and drew in a few deep breaths, blowing them out slowly before burying her face in her hands.

“Are we just making it worse?” Willow whimpered at the same time as Xander sighed, “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

The kettle whined from downstairs.

Though he felt just as poorly put together as any of them present, Giles put on his best adult-in-charge voice and said, “Xander, go get the tea ready. Willow, start looking through my spell books. There has to be something about revealing memories or showing the details of an event that’s taken place. We won’t know how we can help until we know what happened, and Buffy is clearly not ready to talk about it…are you?”

Buffy shook her head without uncovering her face.

“Right then. Get to it, and I’ll be down in a moment.”

Xander and Willow headed for the stairs, both seeming grateful for something concrete to do, while Giles placed his hands on Buffy’s knees and asked softly, “Are you alright? And it’s okay if you’re not.”

She took one last shuddering breath and dropped her hands to cover his. “Yeah. I’ll be fine,” she said, though she seemed unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry I wigged.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he reassured her quickly. “Is there anything I can bring you? I’m going to go help Willow and Xander, but it’s no trouble if you want something to eat or drink, or…or anything really.” God, he felt so useless.

“Actually, there is something,” she said hesitantly, still staring at the floor. “Could you—if it’s not too weird—would you mind just, like, staying with me?” Finally she met his gaze and forced a sheepish smile. “Just until I fall asleep again. I’m just…I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course I can. I’ll be right here.”

Even though the room was dark, he could still see the flush that crept across her cheeks. “No, I mean…would you hold me?”

That was quite possibly the last thing he had expected her to ask of him. If his presumptions about the things Angelus had done to her were correct, he’d have assumed she’d want to be touched as little as possible. But if human contact was what she needed right now, then it was something he could easily provide.

In answer to her request, he slipped off his shoes and sat down on the bed. “Lie down,” he murmured. The smile she gave him in response was tremulous but full of gratitude. She laid her head down on the pillow and curled onto her side, looking up at him at him expectantly. He settled in beside her on his back, and she scooted up next to him, pulling his arm around her and nestling her head onto his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered and closed her eyes.

As she lay there, clinging to his shirt as if she would drown if she let go, he was stricken for the first time since he met her by how small she was. It was easy to forget that beneath the strength and the weapons and the combat skill of the Slayer was a young woman with all the breakability of being human. He brought a hand up to run his fingers through her hair and was hit by an intense sense memory as the scent of vanilla and sandalwood wafted up at him. She must have used the shampoo Jenny had left in his shower. Suddenly the pang in his chest was too much to bear, and he was ready to launch himself down the stairs and follow Xander into the dark to put a stake into all of the monsters who had done this to her. He let a single tear trickle down his cheek, but no more; Buffy needed him to be the strong one for once.

They didn’t cover this in Watcher training, Giles mused, what to do when your teenage Slayer was so overcome by the trauma induced by the requirements of her calling that she couldn’t close her eyes without fear. The Council would be appalled if he told them that he had comforted his Slayer in this way, letting her snuggle up against him until sleep took her. They’d call it inappropriate, a useless and unhealthy attachment. Well, propriety be damned. This was what Buffy needed from him, and whether he liked it or not, he knew that he was powerless to deny her anything.

Getting her to sleep was a much longer process than he anticipated. She had been so exhausted earlier that she had nearly passed out by the time her head hit the pillow, but her encounter with Willow seemed to have shaken her so thoroughly that she was unable to relax. Just when she settled into a light doze, her soft little snores gave way to fearful mews, and he’d whisper soothing nonsense to her until she settled back down. Sometimes that was enough. Other times her cries increased in intensity until her eyes flew open and locked onto his, and then once reassured that he was still there she was able to slow her breathing to match his and fall back into fitful slumber.

By the time she had slept without incident for long enough that he felt comfortable leaving her alone, the first light of dawn was creeping into the loft. Cautiously he disentangled himself from her arms and made his way down to the living room, where Willow had fallen asleep in the bed he had made up for himself on the couch and Xander had somehow managed to make himself comfortable enough to snooze in one of the armchairs. A full mug of chamomile tea, now cold, sat on the coffee table next to their empty ones, and a book of spells lay open beside it. “To Share a Memory,” read the heading at the top of the page.

Well done, Willow, he thought.

He tucked a throw pillow beneath Xander’s impossibly crooked neck, allowing himself a moment of envy that the teenager probably wouldn’t wake up with even a twinge of an ache, and tossed a light afghan over Willow’s still form. He quietly refilled the kettle and set it back on the stove, then took the book of spells to his desk to see exactly what kind of help it could offer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. This was a tough one to write, but here it is. I promise there is sweet, tender smut on its way, but it is not in this chapter.
> 
> If sexual assault or descriptions of violence are triggers for you, please skip this chapter. It goes into detail about Buffy's experience while Angelus held her captive, and while I tried to keep it from being too graphic it is descriptive.

“Do you think they bought the ‘attacked by wild animals while camping’ story, or was it a little too farfetched?”

Giles and Buffy made their way back to the Citroen from the urgent care center, where Buffy had been armed with antibiotics, pain relievers, iron supplements, and a doctor’s note excusing her from school for the next few days.

“Sunnydale is on a hellmouth. I’m certain the doctors here are aware that the truth is a little too farfetched,” Giles pointed out as he opened the passenger door for her.

“You’re not wrong,” she agreed, climbing inside. “Though I could have done without the rabies shot.”

They spent most of the ride back to Buffy’s house in silence that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, though they’d definitely passed more enjoyable times without speaking before. Giles wanted to ensure that she felt secure enough to talk to him about what had happened to her, but he was wary of pressing her into speaking about the experience before she was ready. They had nearly arrived at their destination when he decided there was a small matter that couldn’t wait any longer, however.

“You’re sure you’re alright to be at home by yourself?” he asked. “It’s not an imposition if you’d rather stay with me until your mother gets back from her work trip.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” she said, though her tone did not inspire confidence. “And even if I’m not, I’ve only got a couple of days to get my shit together before Mom comes home. I don’t want to freak her out.”

“You’ve been through something traumatic, and she’s your mother. She won’t mind if you, er, ‘freak her out,’ as you put it,” he reassured her, though when she didn’t respond he decided not to press the issue. A glance at her showed him that she was staring thoughtfully at her hands as they twined anxiously in her lap.

“I want to talk about it,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her over the sounds of the car. “I want you and Xander and Willow to know why I’m so messed up. It’s not fair to them that I can barely even look at them without having a meltdown. I want them to understand why. But every time I think about saying the words out loud, I want to shrivel up and die.”

“Well, you may not have to,” he said, pulling to a stop in front of the Summers’ house and shifting the car into park. “Say the words out loud, I mean.”

She snapped her head up to look at him. “What do you mean? How?”

“Willow found a spell,” he explained. “It enables those who cast it to experience a memory from someone else. It was created as a way for covens to enact justice, to create an infallible witness in the event of a wrongdoing.” Ah, yes, include the history, he inwardly chided himself, that will be incredibly important to her. “It, ah…hm. The thing is, it truly means ‘experience,’ in a very literal sense. The caster—or casters, if Willow and Xander and I are the ones executing the spell—will see what happened through your eyes and feel all of the, er, physical elements of the event.”

Buffy blanched, so he continued quickly, “But your thoughts during that time will remain yours alone. And we won’t be privy to any emotions you felt at the time, either. You’ll have complete control over what we can see, so if anything happened that you don’t want to share with us, you won’t be obligated to allow us in. That is, if you decide you want us to do the spell. It’s absolutely up to you. I’ll bring the text by later today so you can look over it, and you can ask questions if you have any.”

The longer he spoke, the firmer the set of her jaw became and the fiercer the determination in her eyes. He was sure he knew her answer before she opened her mouth to respond, so he was thoroughly surprised when she said, “Let’s do it.”

“It’s alright if you— what?”

“Let’s do it,” she said, even more confident the second time. “Tonight.”

“Buffy, you don’t have to decide now,” he assured her. “Take some time to think about it, at least. Read it over…” He saw her shaking her head and trailed off.

“No, this is important. I need you to know. And putting it off isn’t going to make it any better. I feel so alone right now, and if this is the way to fix it, then I don’t care what I have to do.”

He felt like he should argue, but she looked so positive and self-assured, so much like _herself_ for the first moment since he had found her on his doorstep the night before that he simply couldn’t.

“Right,” he said. “Just tell us where and when, and we’ll be all yours.”

***

“Okay, so how do we get this Vulcan mind meld party started?”

It was a testament to how focused the group was on their preparations that no one even rolled their eyes at Xander’s attempt at levity. They had pushed the furniture in the Summers’ living room against the walls, and Willow finished sprinkling the protective herbs in a circle large enough to hold the four of them onto the hardwood floor. She then joined Giles, Buffy, and Xander in sitting on cushions in the middle, Buffy in the center with the rest of them positioned in a triangle around her.

Giles handed Willow a yellow taper candle identical to the ones he, Xander, and Buffy already held and explained, “Once we’re ready to begin, Buffy will speak the incantation and light her candle, and then we light ours from hers. Then all we have to do is look into the flames and…” He gestured vaguely to mean that the spell would begin.

“And then we watch?” Willow supplied for him.

“‘Watch,’ is the mildest way to describe it, but yes,” he said. He turned to Buffy, whose eyes held both fear and grim resolve. “If at any point you decide you want to stop, extinguish your candle and the spell will end.” Her expression didn’t change, but she nodded to indicate that she understood. He looked to Xander and Willow in turn. “That goes for the both of you as well. The effects of this spell will likely be intense, and if anything becomes too much for you to bear then all you have to do is blow out your candle and you’ll be right back here. Everyone on board?”

Willow nodded vigorously, Xander gave a resigned, “Yup,” and the four of them sat up a little straighter.

“Very well then,” Giles said, and inclined his head toward his Slayer. “Buffy, whenever you’re ready.”

Buffy closed her eyes and drew in one deep breath, then another. For the briefest of moments Giles wondered if she had changed her mind, but then she struck a match against the floor and touched its flame to the wick of the candle she held.

“Mnemosyne, memory’s Muse, the minds of all here present fuse.” She stumbled a little over the name of the Greek goddess, but otherwise her voice was full of conviction. One by one, Willow and Xander and Giles united their candles with Buffy’s and let them take light.

Giles stared into the flame of the candle in his hands. It danced and glowed and generally remained unremarkable. He blinked, unsure of what to expect. How was this supposed to begin? He blinked again, and suddenly everything changed.

_Buffy felt the telltale moment of resistance as her stake plunged into the chest of the vamp she had pinned against the marble crypt in front of her, then the satisfying sensation of the resistance disintegrating into dust. The remnants of the formerly undead creature hadn’t even fully settled to the ground before a hand closed around the back of her neck, and an all-too-familiar voice hissed in her ear, “Did you miss me?”_

_Angel._

_She aimed a kick at him behind her, but he dodged it easily without releasing her. That was the problem with having an enemy who knew her intimately; he knew everything about her, including her fighting style._

_Pain exploded in her head and bright light flashed in front of her eyes as he smashed her face against the crypt. She ignored the flow of blood that started to pour out of her nose and clawed at his hand, but the position was too awkward and his grip too strong for her to pry it away. Darkness began to close in at the edges of her vision._

_"Pesky thing about humans,” Angel laughed, “Cut off circulation to the brain, and suddenly they’re useless.” His hand clenched tighter to illustrate his point._

_A rushing sound filled her ears, and despite her desperation to cling to consciousness, her attempts to escape grew weaker until the darkness overcame her._

***

_When she came to, the first thing she was aware of was the throbbing pain in her head followed by the aching in her shoulders. She couldn’t feel her arms, which took her a few seconds to realize was because they were tied above her head to whatever was suspending her so that the tips of her bare toes were just touching the floor. Her mouth was completely dry, probably because she couldn’t breathe through her nose at all; judging by the sticky stiffness of her upper lip it was likely clogged with dried blood. Her shirt hung limply on the front of her body, but her back was exposed to the cool air, and a searing sharp sensation drew painstakingly slowly in lines between her shoulder blades. She could hear male voices talking somewhere in the room with her, but they sounded distant and muffled as if they were underwater. The voice that spoke from directly behind her, though, was light, feminine, and painfully clear._

_“Blood looks so pretty as it blooms on your skin, like liquid rubies. And it smells like sugared rose petals.”_

_Drusilla._

_"Spike, dear heart, come and feed. You need your strength.”_

_The faraway voices stopped, as did the stinging across her back. Buffy slowly opened her eyes, though it took far more effort than usual. At first everything was blurry and strange looking but eventually settled into focus enough for her to identify that Angel was stalking toward her alongside Spike, who was bafflingly in a wheelchair. They were in the abandoned warehouse the trio had converted into their nest, and the air was full of the sticky haze of incense smoke that gave her surroundings a surreal nightmarish quality._

_Movement nearby caught her attention—Drusilla drifting out from behind her, holding a knife covered in blood. Buffy’s blood. Drusilla ran her tongue along the flat of the blade, a look of pure ecstasy crossing her face._

_“Well, well, the Slayer awakens,” Angel jeered._

_Buffy forced herself to look him in the eyes. “Nice eyeliner,” she croaked in a voice that felt like sandpaper._

_“Like it? I thought I’d try something new.”_

_She choked out a laugh. “You look like a little bitch.”_

_Angel smiled and patted her cheek. “Takes one to know one,” he said, then looked down at Spike. “You gonna take Dru up on her offer of some Slayer blood?” He leaned around Buffy’s shoulder and clucked his tongue. “Aww, looks like she cut her a little too high up for you to reach, buddy. Too bad. More for us.” He ran a finger along one of her wounds and brought it back to his mouth crimson and dripping. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Exquisite.”_

_Spike rolled his eyes and wheeled himself next to Buffy. He ran a hand up her leg to her waist where he undid the fly of her jeans with a few quick flicks of his fingers and yanked them down with one forceful tug. She tried to kick him away, but her body wouldn’t listen; her legs just flailed pathetically and ended up helping him in getting her pants the rest of the way off. “I’ve always preferred the femoral vein anyway,” Spike drawled, slinging her leg over his shoulder. “The humiliation adds a certain something to the taste.” He lapped his cool tongue along the flesh of her inner thigh, then pain bloomed as his fangs pierced her skin and he began to suck greedily. No matter how much she wanted to pull herself away from him, her muscles refused to do as they were told._

_“Feeling a little weak in the knees, Buffy?” Angel asked, his voice tinged with laughter he was barely able to suppress. “Take a deep breath. It’s in the air around you. You can’t get away from it. Inhalant drugs are fun like that. They cripple you human types, and all us non-breathers get is a little contact high from what’s in your bloodstream.” He slapped the back of Spike’s head. “Hey! Don’t drain her. Save some for the rest of us.” Scowling, Spike released her leg and wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand._

_“Get fucked,” Buffy coughed through clenched teeth._

_Angel’s hand snapped up around her throat. “Oh, I plan to,” he hissed._

_Mercifully this time she blacked out quickly._

_***_

_She was in a different place. It was more comfortable, but only slightly, as her arms were still bound but now she was horizontal with a soft surface holding her up. Silky sheets beneath her caressed her bare skin. All her skin was bare now, she realized groggily, and there was a cool, heavy weight on top of her. She opened her eyes._

_Angel’s face was inches from hers. He was inside her. He was big, and she wasn’t ready, and it_ hurt. _Frantically she tried to pull away from him, but her arms were tied to the bedposts, her legs were pinned by his own, and the sickly sweet scent of the drugged incense permeated the room. He grinned. “I gotta say, even catatonic you’re still better than you were the first time you gave it up to me.” His thrusts were slow but far from gentle; clearly he intended to make this last as long as possible._

_Buffy tried her best to look anywhere but at him. It appeared he had set up a room in the warehouse for himself with a four-poster bed, satin sheets, and too many candles all around. He always did have a flair for the dramatic._

_“I should let Dru have a go with you. Maybe she can teach you a thing to two,” he said conversationally, as if he weren’t pounding into her relentlessly. She gave no response but stared at the flickering of one of the candles beside his bed. The wax dripped down its side and pooled next to it, unmoved by the violation happening a few feet away from it._

_After what felt like hours, Angel growled his release and sank his teeth into her breast. He collapsed onto her, crushing her beneath his full weight, and lay there with his head on her chest, absently lapping her blood with his tongue. She closed her eyes._

_“It’s good to have you back, Buffy,” he crooned, brushing her hair away from her face in a perverted imitation of affection. “I missed this.”_

_***_

_The time passed in a blur that was both staggeringly fast and painstakingly slow. The only difference between day and night was that while the vampires rested during the day, they kept Buffy locked in a pitch-black, cramped space that was probably a small utility closet at some point in a previous life, and there they left her alone for long enough that she could breathe. Any sleep she managed, though, was fitful and difficult to come by, as they had only provided her with a threadbare and musty blanket that did little in the way of helping her stay warm. By the time she had made herself as comfortable as it was possible to be while curled up naked on a concrete floor and had started to drift off, Angel would throw the door open and drag her to his bedroom for more of his idea of fun._

_He was insatiable. The nights went on in an endless tableau of rape and torment. Angel and Drusilla took their pleasure whenever and however they wanted, sometimes together and sometimes separately. Spike fed, often while Angel or Drusilla had their way with her, his eyes watching her with something akin to pity—or at least as close to pity as a demon was capable of. Each night, one hour bled into the next with no sign of her situation changing until there was a point when she finally passed out, either from blood loss or sheer exhaustion._

_It was near what Buffy hoped was the end of her third night of captivity that Angel had left her alone, tied once again to the bedposts with elaborately artistic knotwork Drusilla had constructed; it would have looked beautiful if the circumstances had been different. She stared at the labyrinthine way the rope looped over and around itself and one of her wrists, following its path until it put her into a sort of meditative state. She was almost able to ignore the way the fibers cut painfully into her skin. Almost._

_Movement at the doorway drew her attention. Willow and Xander were standing there, looking in on her in horror. She tried to speak, but all that came from her parched throat was a dry crackle._

_“Oh, Buffy,” Willow sighed and ran to her, throwing one of the bedsheets over her exposed body. Xander sat down beside her and held a bottle of water to her lips; she gulped it with abandon. No medicine had ever been so soothing._

_When at last she could swallow again without pain, she tried her voice again, “You need to get out of here!” What she lacked in volume, she more than made up for in urgency. “They’ll find you, and they’ll kill you!”_

_Each of them was tackling the ropes at her wrists. Willow had gotten a head start on untying one side with skill that would make a Girl Scout envious, while Xander pulled out a pocket knife and started sawing away at the other. “We’re not leaving here without you,” Willow insisted. For the first time since she’d been taken, Buffy’s eyes started to fill with tears, though she didn’t let them spill over just yet._

_As soon as she was able, Buffy sat up on her knees, awkwardly pinning the bedsheet to her chest with her elbows and rubbed at the deep grooves her bonds had etched onto her. With a gentle hand, Willow began to untie the remains of the rope around the wrist Xander had cut from the bed, but Buffy pulled away from her and quickly began to arrange the sheet around her into something approximating clothing. “Come on,” she said, “We’ve got to get out of here before Angel—” But something in the way Xander was staring at her made the words stop in her throat._

_“You know, Willow,” he said slowly, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity she had never seen from him, “we’ve helped Buffy out of a lot of scrapes before, and this one’s probably the worst yet. I’m thinking she owes us big time.” Willow’s hands snatched Buffy’s wrists and pinned them behind her back with superhuman strength. “You’re right, Xander,” Willow agreed in a voice so nonchalant it could have been commenting on the weather. “What did you have in mind?”_

_In one smooth motion, Xander yanked the sheet away from Buffy and leapt up onto his feet on the bed. “There’s actually something I’ve been wanting from her for a long time,” he admitted as he undid his belt and fly. With uncharacteristic agility, he whipped out a hand and grabbed her chin, tilting her head to make her look up at him. “Think about biting me, and I’ll break your fucking jaw,” he growled. He forced her mouth open and pushed himself inside._

_“Just let it happen, Buffy,” Willow cooed into her ear, her grip digging painfully into her wrists. “It’ll be over soon. And it’s really the least he could want from you.” Buffy choked down the bile that threatened to rise in her throat and squeezed her eyes closed, but Xander caught a fistful of her hair and pulled with a barked command: “Look at me.” She did as she was bid, fighting the tears back, and watched her friend’s face dissolve into bliss while he abused her._

_It wasn’t long before Xander finished in her mouth with a groan that turned into a laugh. Buffy gagged; as soon as Willow released her arms, she pulled the sheet over her face and spat into it. As she suppressed the urge to vomit by taking several deep breaths through the satin, the sound of Xander’s laughter changed. The cruelty remained, but suddenly the voice was Angel’s. She dropped the sheet to find herself face-to-face with the vampire, whose expression held pure, unadulterated mirth._

_“Oh, man, Dru, she really thought she was out of here!” he crowed. Buffy hazarded a glance behind her to where Willow had sat, only to see that Drusilla had taken her place and was hiding a giggle behind a pale, slender hand. Angel shook his head. “You stupid slut,” he chuckled. He picked her up by the hair at the nape of her neck and dragged her back to her closet prison, laughing the whole way._

_***_

_She was enveloped in darkness and warmth and the earthy scent of worn leather, and she was being carried. The cool breeze on her face and the soft sound of footsteps on pavement told her she was outside the warehouse. The movement stopped. She opened her eyes just a little and found herself looking at the heavy wooden door of Giles’s apartment._

_Whoever was carrying her knelt down and deposited her on the doorstep unceremoniously but not without care. She heard Spike’s voice whisper in her ear, “Don’t think I’m doing this because I like you, Slayer. I’m going to kill you someday, and when I do you’ll be at the top of your game and a worthy challenge. Not drugged and broken like this.” He pulled his duster off her, and the sound of his footsteps faded away as he stalked away into the dark._

Smoke curled upward from the now extinguished candle in Giles’s hand. He felt numb and cold and horribly empty. Xander was staring at the floorboards, his candle discarded and his hands shaking violently. Willow was panting as if she had run a mile at top speed, tears streaming steadily down her face. And Buffy lay on the floor in the middle of them all, clutching her knees to her chest, her eyes distant.

“Buffy,” Giles breathed. He crawled on his knees to sit by her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. Trembling, she released her candle from her white-knuckled grip, and it clattered to the floor in two pieces. Wordlessly she climbed into his lap, wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his shoulder. She drew in one deep breath and finally let tears overcome her. They started quietly but quickly grew into great, racking sobs that shook her entire body, and the warmth of her tears falling on his skin melted the numbing cold he felt into an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. He’d always felt it for her, but now it swelled into a raging fire in the pit of his stomach that threatened to consume him. In that single heartbreaking moment, he’d have died for her if it would take her pain away; all she’d have to do was ask it of him.


End file.
